


Mischief Managed.

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Character Death, F/M, Fatal Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22615594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: The last Marauder falls.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 40
Kudos: 80





	Mischief Managed.

**Trigger Warnings: Major Character Death, Fatal Illness, Assisted Suicide**

  
  


_ I’m free.  _

_ The pull of the moon keeps me going, pushing me harder; leaves crunch under my paws, twigs snapping as I weave through the trees; a gust of fresh winter air runs through my fur, curling around me.  _

_ Coming to a sharp stop, I rut my nose into the earth and huff at the familiar scent. _

_ It’s her _ . __

_ Taking off in a sprint, I dart over a fallen branch and come to halt at my favorite cliffside, thick paws sliding through rock and gravel. My ears twitch. I would smile if I could; I can hear her coming, can smell her on the breeze.  _

_ Still, her scent isn’t what brings me here. The moon calls to me, and as much I’ve tried in this tired life of mine, I can not deny her. A howl rips up my throat, echoing through the vast sky and when it ceases, I turn, finding her there: Chestnut fur with an ivory breast and golden eyes. She’s a wolf, but not pack. She’s not like me. Too small, too timid.  _

_ With slow, purposeful strides I make my way towards her, lifting and dropping each paw slowly. She’s not afraid of me—never has been—and she shows it by burying her nose in the dried leaves and then tossing them up at me. At some point in the past few years, she’s become familiar. At some point it stopped bothering me. _

_ Coming up to her, I nudge her with my snout, rubbing my neck against hers as we brush together again and again. I try again to reach her with my thoughts and fail. Not pack, not kin.  _

_ But I know her scent; summer in winter and home. She’s not my mate; no one ever will be again, but I like her around. I am reminded of when I never had to run alone, and how it’s all I do now. I decide to run; let her try to follow. _

_ Another howl climbs from my stomach and I throw my head back to pay proper tribute to my mistress before tearing into the woods. I’m not surprised when she follows and I don’t spare a look back. I can hear her, after all; a whimper in the air. She can’t keep up. Against my volition, I slow for her.  _

_ It’s nice not to be alone.  _

  
  


Everything aches. Always. In my youth I’d have blamed it on the wolf in me; now, I fear it’s just my age or something worse. It seems an odd thing to complain about, especially when I’m the last one left. 

Shifting up to seated, I wince at the tightness in my spine, flinching from the pain that I ought to be used to by now. 

I must have slept all day. 

Outside my window, the waning moon calls to me from the sky, a bitter farewell that never lasts longer than a cycle. 

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I drag my broken body from its comfort, feeling the ache tremble through my limbs as I trudge to the door. The whole of Grimmauld Place creaks under my feet and the sound is oddly comforting. Harry was kind enough to give me this old house.

He doesn’t need it, doesn’t really  _ want _ it. 

And it’s easy to see why; there are ghosts everywhere. None of them corporeal but all of them haunting. A ghost of Fred’s laugh or Sirius barking at Kreacher; bittersweet memories of when we all still clung to hope we’d make it out together. 

Each step siphons some of my depleted energy and I groan as I finally make it to the last step, panting under the exhausting effort of simply moving this rickety body of mine. Thankfully, Teddy’s with Andromeda; she’s kind of enough to keep him during the moon when he’s on holiday. I hate when he sees me like this. Decrepit.  _ Dying.  _

Falling into the chair by a roaring fire, I smirk at the collection of things on my coffee table. Thoughtful, the girl is; a handful of potions she’s brewed herself, some to rid the pain, others to ease the insomnia that accompanies a nearly full moon. She’s left a plate of food under a stasis charm and a glass of tepid water. 

Wrapping an arm around my torso, I flinch at the splintering pain in my ribs and wonder when it was she was here, when it was she left. She’s a good kid, that Hermione Granger, knew it from the first day I met her on the train and now, some twenty-five years later, I know it still. Someday, when she quits working so damn much, she’s going to make some bloke an honest man. He’ll be lucky. 

After the battle— _ after Tonks _ —I got into a bad state. Hell, we all did. But, still, Hermione always came. With food and potions, on breaks from her rounds at St. Mungos, and then again with things for Teddy to keep him from noticing what a wreck his old man was turning out to be.

Reaching past the food for the first potion —the one that will calm the tremors—I knock it back, the chill of it's effects taking hold and I sag boneless into the couch. 

Tomorrow, she’ll find me here, as she always does. Food uneaten and body broken. 

xXx

_ “Remus?”  _ She speaks gently, a warm hand splaying over my chest; instinctually my own comes up to cradle it. Blinking through heavy lids, I see a woman hovering over me. For a splinter of a moment she has bubblegum pink hair and dimples, but as the soft rays of morning settle in, I see riotous brown curls and freckled cheeks instead. 

She came. But then, she always does. 

“Hi, Hermione.” It comes out like a croak and something about my body feels worse this time around. Peeking at her through barely open eyes, I can see worry etched into the fine lines that have begun to gather at the corners of her eyes and I can’t figure out why. 

“How are you feeling?” The bridge of her nose wrinkles with concern. 

I cough, feeling it rattle through my chest and I grimace. “A bit rough, if I’m honest. How are you? You didn’t have to—” 

“Remus, I need to give you an examination. I think…” She trails off, the back of her hand resting against my clammy forehead and I smile up at her. She always was a pretty girl, maybe she’s even prettier now as she nears thirty. “I think there’s something wrong. We’ve had cases coming in… ” 

“Don’t fret, Hermione.” Pursing her lips, I can see the thoughts warring in her head. “I’ll be alright.” It’s a lie. I can feel it somewhere inside, corroding me. I won’t survive another transformation. 

She sits on her hands, perched on the very edge of the coffee table and I can see her push her emotion to the side; she’s all business now. “From what we can deduce at St. Mungos, Fenrir Greyback comes from a cursed bloodline.” 

“Is that so?” My mouth quirks to one side in a hollow smile, but I know better. 

“Nearly a dozen cases so far, all sired by Fenrir.” She swallows, still avoiding just bloody saying it. I wish she would. Put me out of my misery. 

“I take it they aren’t doing so well or you wouldn’t look like you’re about to tell me you’ve killed my cat.” 

Fat tears gather at the rim of her eyelids and I suddenly feel selfish. I was never meant to grow old, werewolves never do; still, I let her care for me. 

“They’re dying, Remus. And I can’t— _ I can’t stop it. _ I promise I won’t give up but…” 

I huff. _ “Accio Firewhisky.” _ She doesn’t move as I twist the cap free, letting it burn down my throat as I pour it into my empty stomach. “How long?”

Her jaw trembles, nostrils flaring as she attempts bedside manner. “The first symptoms are generalized body pains following a transformation, which as you know is normal, but they don’t go away. They get worse. Fever, memory loss, anemia, open sores...” 

My eyes flutter closed and it feels as though the knife that’s been ever-present in my side twists. _ “How long?” _

She breathes sharply, though it shakes as she inhales. “From the first presentation of symptoms—six to eight weeks.” 

I take another drink. “And how do they go to the great beyond? These werewolf kin of mine?”

Finally, her tears spill over and she sags under the weight of it all, her hands gripping my knees. “Slowly.” 

That’s not what I wanted to hear. 

“We can—” she pauses, words catching and she tries again, her red rimmed gaze finding mine. “We can help with the pain. We can’t stop the transformations but there are options: we could sedate you, there’s some trolls bane that’s been helpful to keep you under during the moon, blood transfusions may give you more time...” 

I don’t respond; there’s nothing to say. 

xXx

Even my walking stick can’t help me now, it knocks and rattles against the floor, trembling in my grasp as I make way to the window. 

It’s dusk. 

Almost time. 

I’ve loved Teddy; Merlin, I’ve loved him. Of all the things I’ve fucked up, he’s not one of them. I wish I could love him a little longer. Above all else I hope my love for him is bigger than death, I hope it reaches him when I’m gone. Tonks’ love did for me. 

I’ve left him a notebook of memories of his mother, even some of me. Signed over Grimmauld and my meager Gringotts account. Kissed his curly, teal hair one last time. My son. 

Even before the moon has risen, I can feel her call. She’s waiting to bring me home. My bones beg for relief and at this point, my soul does too.

Maybe I should’ve told someone, said more goodbyes—had someone with me tonight. 

But, everyone else died alone—even Dora—makes sense I do too. I hold the black vial in front of me, a bittersweet symphony of emotions crashing in my chest. 

The Last Marauder. 

A lifetime of mischief managed. 

A wry, broken smile breaks over my lips as the sun begins tucking below the horizon and I bid it a final farewell. I have always loved the moon, but my finest memories were under the sun’s kiss. 

As it dips out of sight, I lift the vial to my lips and feel the tingle of it's contents in my gut. I’ve got some time yet. 

Gripping my wand, I Apparate to the forest, relishing in the feeling of the earth under my feet and the familiar scent of winter in the air.  _ Home.  _

The first brittle crack of my bones begins and I lose control of my body, giving it to her—to the moon. 

_ A howl claws from my lips but it cracks at the end like a somber song I never wanted to sing. I’m not where I need to be and I feel weak from the potion already. Mustering all the strength I have, my claws sink into the ground, dragging me: forward, forward,  _ forward.

_ I don’t pause, don’t slow, not even when I hear her on the wind. A growl, then a whimper reaching my ears. She’s not pack—but she knows. It drives me forward and I can hear the slowing of my heart in the hollow cavern of my chest. I falter, falling in the frost-covered brush.  _

_ I can’t stop here.  _

_ Dragging my tired body up, I force strength into my limbs and I can just see the cliff on the horizon. _

_ The cliff where I want to die.  _

_ My mistress sits there nestled in the night sky, hovering over us all, calling to me. My moon.  _

_ My body slows; I don’t have much left in me now. Each step is purposeful and determined—difficult. I come up to the cliffside and sit, my tail wagging a final time as the weight of my soul pulls me down and I hit the hard stone of the mountain.  _

_ Thinking of all the ways I could have gone in this wretched life of mine, this seems to be the best. I’m at peace here.  _

_ My eyes are hard to keep open, but I try as I hear her whimper from behind me.  _

_ She’s found me—but then, she always does.  _

_ Scents of summer in winter and home lilt through the air and a soft cry like a pup sounds from my lips. I can’t muster much else.  _

_ She stands next to me, chestnut fur and golden eyes, and nudges me with her warm snout. I turn to her, pushing mine to hers; I’m grateful for her. She’s crying now, broken whines as she lays next to me and pushes her face against me.  _

_ I wonder if she hears my heart. It’s too slow now. Not long.  _

_ She jumps to her feet and skitters off; part of me breaks. I wanted her to stay. I didn’t want to be alone.  _

_ “Remus?”  _

_ I know that voice. A pained howl slips from my throat and I wish I could move, wish I could see her.  _

_ Slender fingers slide through my fur and riotous chestnut curls and golden eyes come into my view. Tears stain her cheeks and she is sobbing desperately, petting my fur and pulling a conjured blanket tight around her. Haphazardly, she lays next to me, pushing her forehead against mine.  _

_ “You should have told me,” she scolds, but it’s more like a plea and I wish I could say something. She deserved more; a thank you at least, but for how much she’s loved an unlovable man, probably more than that. “I’ve never wanted you to be alone.”  _

_ She’ll have to settle for a yip and even that comes out wrong as I nuzzle against her. It’s time and after all the moons I’ve run under and summers I’ve spent laughing, it’s still not enough.  _

_ “You are so loved,” she breathes into my neck, her tears sliding off my fur. “You can let go. We’ll be okay. I’ll be okay; I won’t leave you.”  _

_ It soothes my soul and with my last strength, I lift my chin to seek the moon.  _

_ She calls to me and as many times as I’ve tried in this tired life of mine, I can not deny her.  _

_ Everything fades away under the soft glow of a full moon and a sob that sounds like a howl chasing me home.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**A/N: If you’ve found your way here, I’d love to know what you think! I am the first to admit that I am trash at responding to reviews but I read and love each and every single one!**

**Biggest thanks to Partylines and MCal for their eyes on this piece and Ravenpuff Love for beta’ing!**

**Oh! If you’re interested in hearing me prattle on, we are hosting a live podcast tonight on our facebook page, Wine, Wands, and Waffling, on 2/8/20 at 9pm EST! You can expect drunken shenanigans and kink talk lol would love if you joined us!**

**Mwah! …and hugs… sorry for the sad bits!**


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